So tonight we went to a wedding. It was near Kibbutz Naan. When we went in they couldn’t find our names. Eventually they wrote out seating cards for us anyway. We dropped the cheque in the safe and looked around. “Maybe it’s the wrong wedding,” I said: I don’t see anyone I know here.” “Wow, maybe it really is,” said Dorit, also peering round to recognize a face somewhere. So it dawned on us that there must be more than one wedding hall near Kibbutz Naan. It took a while to get someone to retrieve the envelope from the safe and for us to go and find the right wedding.
As we walked in they were just reciting “and if I should forget Jerusalem may I lose my right hand – or however it goes.” At first we didn’t see anyone we knew there either. One wedding’s as good as another wedding, I thought. But it wasn’t so bad. The salads were excellent, and I managed to finish several chapters of “No more enemies.”
On the way out we took a different way, through the fields. Two young guys came up along side us and signalled us to stop. I thought they might be criminals. “Police”, they said. “Police?” – “We are police,” they answered, “Where are you going, sir?” “To the road.” “Where are you from?” “Neve Shalom. Shalom.” I said, winding up the window.